


My Favorite Obsession

by firstlightofeos



Series: Science Fiction Double Feature [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Power Dynamics, cross-dressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practice makes perfect. (In which there are corsets, fishnets, high heels, and—oh, yes—a warped mirror.)</p><p>[A PWP inspired by <i>The Rocky Horror Picture Show</i>.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Favorite Obsession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/gifts).



> This fic owes its entire existence to [professor](http://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor), who prompted a _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ AU on the kinkmeme that got my plot bunnies breeding uncontrollably, which led to thoughts of Charles-and-Erik-in-corsets-and-fishnets-and-extremely-high-heels. She also stayed up ridiculously late holding my hand while I wrote this, my first porn fic ever, for which I am eternally grateful. *grins*

"Mm," Charles hums, sounding very pleased with himself as he cinches the black corset around Erik's waist as tight as it'll go—which, given how slim Erik is, is very tight indeed. "Oh, darling, your figure was _made_ for a corset." His hands slide down Erik's sides, reveling in the taper of Erik's waist, lingering at the very bottom of the fabric, teasing at the holes of Erik's black fishnets. Erik shivers. Charles slaps his arse with a loud _smack_ before he walks around to stand in front of Erik and kneels. Erik's cock, already painfully hard, jumps in anticipation.

Charles chuckles, his breath just barely gliding over Erik's dick, the _tease_. "Not tonight, darling." He reaches to the side and grabs a pair of huge black stilettos, their patent leather gleaming in the dim light. His left hand circles Erik's right ankle, holding it with a light but firm grip. "Up," he orders, and Erik lifts his foot obediently so Charles can slip the correct shoe onto it, kissing Erik's ankle before he replaces his foot on the ground. Charles does the same for the other foot, holding Erik in place as he wobbles dangerously before releasing his left ankle and letting Erik's feet rest not-so-firmly on the ground.

"Sloppy," Charles comments, smirking as he stands gracefully in his own heels without even the faintest hint of unsteadiness. "We're going to have to practice, aren't we."

Erik just glares down at Charles, but doesn't say anything. He's learned the rules of this game—and besides, Charles knows he likes this, likes dressing up for Charles as much as Charles enjoys dressing him. Charles just tuts and reaches up, touches his thumb to the corner of Erik's mouth, wiping away an imaginary smudge of lipstick. Erik closes his eyes, darts his tongue out to catch Charles's finger, but he's too late; Charles has already stepped away, circling behind Erik and wrapping one arm around his waist, his cock pressing teasingly against the crease of Erik's arse.

"Open your eyes," Charles commands. Erik's eyes shoot open, though he keeps his head down, his body unable to disobey Charles when he takes that tone, even if Erik's mind wants nothing more than to resist. "Look at yourself," Charles continues, sliding his hand up Erik's chest to grip his chin firmly as he forces Erik to meet his own gaze in the full-length mirror in front of them. "See how _perfect_ you look like this."

"Like a transvestite?" Erik says cheekily, batting his heavily-mascaraed lashes and pursing his red-stained lips. Charles's grip tightens to the point of almost being painful, and his free hand slaps Erik's arse again.

"Like you're mine," he growls. Erik shudders, tilting his head to the side, baring his neck to Charles. Charles closes his teeth over Erik's pulse point, biting down hard enough that Erik's surprised not to see blood when Charles pulls away.

"Mine," he says again.

"Yours," Erik breathes, meeting Charles's eyes in the mirror. He tries to surreptitiously slide his hand back to grip Charles's cock, which is burning a hot line against his arse, dripping pre-cum onto his fishnets, but Charles slaps his hand away with a sharp, "No." He then releases Erik, stepping back abruptly.

His support gone, Erik loses his balance, pitching forward and grabbing the edges of the mirror, the gold moulding warping to fit his grip. Charles laughs lowly, and the sound goes straight to Erik's crotch, his dick jerking again, pressing the lines of the fishnets even tighter. He groans at the mixed sensations of pleasure and pain, his hips jerking forward abortively.

"Very pretty," Charles says, and Erik can _hear_ the smirk in his voice, though he can't see his face. Erik swallows dryly and lets his head fall further forward, watches through his legs as Charles sashays forward in those heels as comfortably as if he were born in them. Charles’s cock juts out from just above the waistband of his own fishnets, pale flesh stark against the deep blue of Charles’s corset, swaying from side to side in parallel with the motion of his hips. He stops just shy of Erik, tilts his head to the side and makes a great show of looking Erik up and down, licking his lips. 

Erik groans again because even upside-down, the gesture is unbelievably arousing, and _really_ , that is patently unfair. 

_Oh, is it,_ Charles replies, his expression taking a speculative cast. 

_Yes,_ Erik thinks back petulantly, raising his head and turning his neck so Charles can receive the full force of his glare, right-way-up. Erik ruins the picture by wiggling his arse slightly, but it's worth it for the way Charles's eyes snap to the faint movement, growing even darker as his hand flexes threateningly. Erik dares to repeat the movement, but then curses the heels as he nearly falls on his face _again_. Charles's laugh is full-throated this time, and he throws his head back, exposing the long line of his neck. It's all Erik can do to keep holding on to the mirror, knowing that if he gives in to the urge to stride over to Charles and bite _his_ neck, he really will fall, and that'll just be embarrassing and completely ruin the mood. 

"Practice makes perfect, darling," Charles replies, his grin just this edge of shit-eating. "But,” he says, casting an eye at Erik’s unsteady stance, at the way Erik's practically presenting his arse up to Charles, “maybe not just now." He reaches out and cups Erik's arse, pressing his thumbs gently into the dimples of the cheeks. "Though I am tempted," he says, his voice dropping half an octave as he leans forward, his mouth just shy of Erik's earlobe, "to just rip off all these clothes and fuck you in nothing but those heels." 

" _Charles_ ," Erik groans, closing his eyes. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Charles purrs, his hands kneading Erik's arse, his breath hot in Erik's ear. "You, bent over, holding on to this mirror for dear life as I fuck you so hard you can barely stay upright, stilettos or no." Erik lets his head fall forward, still keeping his eyes closed as he tries to control his breathing. "You'd beg me to stop," Charles continues, his hands moving closer together, inching in towards Erik's hole, "plead with me to let you take off those shoes so you could brace yourself for me, but I wouldn't stop, wouldn't even slow down, and you'd be so off-balance you'd pitch forward with me, not getting enough leverage to get the friction you'd want so desperately, just letting me use you for my own pleasure and hoping I'd be kind enough to jerk you off when I'm done…" 

Erik's so turned-on he can't even moan his approval, just pushes his feelings of _need_ and _want_ and _now_ at Charles, who sucks in a shuddering breath, trailing off. 

He lifts his left hand from Erik's rear, slides it forward—pausing for a brief moment to palm Erik's hip—and squeezes Erik's dick, just this side of too hard. Erik bucks forward again, just barely avoiding slamming his forehead into the mirror as Charles steadies him. 

"Shh," Charles gentles, hands smoothing down Erik's sides. "Shh, I've got you, darling, that's it, breathe for me." Erik tries to obey, tries to calm down, but it's too much, the corset impeding his ability to breathe as deeply as he needs, the fishnets pressing in tight against his leaking cock, the stilettos squeezing his toes painfully as he tries desperately not to lose his balance, everything a mass of sensation and a constant litany of _CharlesCharlesCharles_. 

"I can't," he gasps out. "Charles, I—"

"Shh," Charles says again. One hand comes forward to grip the nape of Erik's neck, the other stroking Erik's temple soothingly. "You're doing so well, darling, just a little longer, can you hold on a little longer for me?" 

Erik whimpers but nods, warping the mirror's moulding even further as his chest heaves, the muscles in his thighs trembling with the effort of keeping him upright. Charles smiles against Erik's shoulder, nips it lightly before stepping away as Erik gasps. Erik hears him moving around, hears the _schick_ of a drawer opening and closing, but doesn't look up, too focused on keeping his breathing even as he tries to talk himself down from the edge. 

"I _was_ going to have you finger yourself open while we both watched," Charles says conversationally as he walks back up to Erik, trailing a finger possessively down his spine, stopping just at the point where the corset ends. Erik shivers, swallows loudly as he shifts in the heels. "But I'm not quite sure you're up to that at this point, are you, love?" It's not quite a question, but Erik shakes his head anyway. "No, I thought not." Charles gently eases the waist of Erik's fishnets down, carefully edging it over his dick and arse. He lets go of it momentarily once it's cleared Erik's cock, squeezing Erik's balls under the waistband, and Erik groans in protest. 

"No?" Charles asks, teasing. "You're sure?"

" _Charles_ ," Erik breathes, trying to insert an edge of disapproval into his tone. It comes out closer to pleading.

"Fine, fine," Charles says, freeing Erik's sac with a sigh. "Next time, maybe." 

" _Charles_ ," Erik says again, more urgently, shifting as he enjoys his cock's newfound freedom. Charles stills him with a squeeze to his hip.

"So _pushy_ ," he murmurs, sounding delighted at the thought. There's the sound of a cap unscrewing and something falling to the floor before Charles eases two well-lubed fingers into Erik's arse without any warning. Erik yells, clenching down as he does his best not to come before Charles has given him permission. 

"Good boy," Charles says, his free hand petting Erik's side. "Now loosen up for me, there's a dear." Erik does his best, tries to ignore the way Charles's fingers just barely brush his prostate as they scissor him open. He doesn't need much preparation; they've already fucked more than once tonight, and he's still a little loose, but Charles is nothing if not thorough, and by the time he pulls his fingers out, Erik's pretty sure he's lost all sense of coherence, just groaning and babbling and pleading with Charles to fuck him, fuck him _now_.

"Well, if you insist," he replies, and that sobers Erik up just a little. He rolls his eyes as he straightens his spine slightly. 

"Less talking, more fucking," he demands, earning him a slap to his arse. 

"I thought I was the one in charge here," Charles says, lining his cock up with Erik's hole, just barely pressing the tip inside. 

"Whatever—gave—you—that—idea?" Erik huffs, straining back in an effort to get Charles deeper. Charles doesn't move. " _Charles_."

"Mm?" Charles traces the sequined pattern of Erik's corset absently. "You have to ask, darling." 

" _Please_."

"Please what?"

Erik turns to glare at Charles, sweat dripping down his face. Charles quirks an eyebrow, _maddeningly_ calm for a man who's got his cock in another man's arse. Erik rolls his eyes, sighing theatrically. 

"Please fuck me," he grits out. Charles smiles, pushes forward and bottoms out in a single thrust. Erik shouts, letting his head fall forward again, staring at the floor. Charles slaps his side, and Erik raises his gaze to meet Charles's in the mirror just as Charles starts to fuck him in earnest. 

"You—only—had to ask," Charles breathes, his face flushed, finally showing some evidence of being as affected by this as Erik is. 

" _Insufferable_ ," Erik throws back, digging his toes in as he tries to gain some kind of leverage, but Charles was right—he can barely keep his balance in the heels, and he's not getting enough friction to come just from this. 

"Four-syllable words?" Charles asks. "I must not—be doing—a very—good job." 

"I've—had—better," Erik lies. Charles just grins.

Then his hand closes around Erik's cock and he hisses, "Come for me,” and Erik's hips stutter forward of their own accord as he yells and comes all over the mirror. Charles fucks him through it, his own rhythm hardly faltering until he drives himself in to the hilt and spills into Erik, Erik's name falling from his lips and thoughts like a prayer. 

They stay like that for a minute or two before Charles slowly eases out, his come dripping from Erik's arse and onto the carpeted floor, a few drops landing on the shiny patent leather of Erik's stilettos. 

"Don't move," Charles orders as he walks away, and though Erik's entire body is quivering with the effort of not collapsing to the floor, he obeys. Charles comes back in a moment with a damp towel, and he wipes Erik off gently before tugging the fishnets back up into place and smoothing Erik's hair into some kind of semblance of order. Erik groans at the sensation of the fabric on his oversensitive cock but doesn't complain, and Charles smiles, kisses Erik briefly in reward. 

"You were very good, darling," he says. "We'll just have to practice some more." 

"I like your methods of practicing," Erik replies, wrapping his arms around Charles and kissing him again. Charles returns the kiss for a moment before pulling away.

"Mm," he hums contentedly. He touches the mirror's completely warped frame, traces his index finger through the mess of Erik’s come, a smile ghosting across his features. "I think I'll leave it like this; what do you think?"

Erik barely looks at it. "Whatever you want." 

"Excellent answer," Charles says triumphantly, ducking away as Erik tries to pull him in for another kiss. He laughs as he heads for the bathroom, and calls over his shoulder, "Now come on, darling, let's fix your makeup; we're late for the floor show!"

Erik gapes. 

"All this," he grits out, stumbling after Charles, "and a floor show?"


End file.
